Editor’s Note: John “Mr. Green” has been the Director of Spartanburg Science Center for 38 years. He will retire on Sunday, May 22, 2016. The public is invite to a drop-in reception in his honor 2-4 p.m. at the Science Center at Chapman Cultural Center.

By Adam Wong

It’s 1995 or thereabouts, and I am scrambling through a scraggly pinewoods. It’s really muggy and hot, of course, because it’s June in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I have wandered too far away from the group. Even in my sugar-addled state, I am extremely focused on a singular task at hand—crystal hunting. You see, in this innocuous patch of wild on the far west side of town, amongst the abandoned microwave ovens, you’ll find an interesting geological feature: quartz crystals. You have to really get down on your hands and knees to find the good ones. Start scratching around and eventually, the red clay will yield nicely formed quartz. Not just regular old rocks, mind you, but real crystals, caused by some distant volcanic activity, if memory serves me. The biggest ones are maybe the size of a multivitamin. To me, it’s as big as the world. “Adam Wong, get over here!” Mr. Green screams. I stuff my loot into my pockets and head back towards the road. I am in trouble.

Mr. Green, Director of Spartanburg Science Center, will retire after 38 years.

Later that week, we are back in the air-conditioned Arts Center. Today, we are studying astronomy. Today, we are using the “StarLab.” This, by the way, is the grand finale of science camp. What’s the StarLab? It’s an igloo of heavy black fabric, maybe 15 feet wide, inflated by an industrial fan, and you and the kids crawl through one end, and there’s a projector in the middle, and once your eyes adjust to the darkness, you start to see the stars projected onto the inside of the StarLab. Most of these kids live in the city, and they’ve never seen the stars for real, because of all the city lights. Even where I lived in Gramling, there’s enough artificial light from the interstate to keep your eyes from adjusting. But it’s pitch black in the StarLab. Each tiny star stands out against the black canvas. Plus, just swap out this slide and now you in the southern hemisphere, looking at the universe from a totally new perspective. These are stars we’ve never seen before, never would have imagined were there. I am, of course, not paying attention because I am 8 years old. With a click, Mr. Green’s thin scowl appears hovering in the dark. And he looks pretty mad too. I am in trouble. Again.

Crystals gathered by Adam Wong from the crystals fields on the westside of Spartanburg.

But now the news comes to me by email that Mr. Green is retiring. I’m not surprised, but I am very, very sad. The Science Center is Mr. Green, and Mr. Green is the Science Center. Every kid in Spartanburg County knows that. Who will run the summer science camp? Who will travel to after-school programs to give his famous science lectures? Who will feed the menagerie of snakes, fish, tarantulas and other assorted creepy-crawlies? And what about the late, great, mascot of the Science Center, Chief—who else would volunteer to care for a 50-pound snapping turtle, even when duty called for prying tiny errant fingers from out of his (actually her) jaws? And who could replicate John Green’s singular snark, the attitude of Grouch Marx encrusting Carl Sagan’s sense of awe? He’s a homespun modern Galileo, a Renaissance Man, Man of Science, a stalwart conservationist, and a most entertaining conversationalist, an idealist who wasn’t above threatening an unruly child with the static shock from a Van Der Graaff generator. Who could possibly replace John Green?

Awfully big shoes to fill, I think. And that was, and is, Mr. Green—filling small places with big ideas. To break this complex world down into bits and pieces even a child can understand. Taking the light of the whole universe, bending it through a piece of glass and showing it to a bunch of kids. That’s science and wonder, to me. Whatever you call it, Mr. Green was really good at it.

Thanks for science and the wonder, Mr. Green.

#

Adam Wong, son of Steve Wong and Kathy Woodham, grew up in Spartanburg but now he lives in Portland, Oregon, working as a computer programmer for a start-up enterprise. Sometimes, when no one is looking, he still digs around in the dirt looking for crystals.

About This Blog

Editor’s Note: John “Mr. Green” has been the Director of Spartanburg Science Center for 38 years. He will retire on Sunday, May 22, 2016. The public is invite to a drop-in reception in his honor 2-4 p.m. at the Science Center at Chapman Cultural Center.

By Adam Wong

It’s 1995 or thereabouts, and I am scrambling through a scraggly pinewoods. It’s really muggy and hot, of course, because it’s June in Spartanburg, South Carolina. I have wandered too far away from the group. Even in my sugar-addled state, I am extremely focused on a singular task at hand—crystal hunting. You see, in this innocuous patch of wild on the far west side of town, amongst the abandoned microwave ovens, you’ll find an interesting geological feature: quartz crystals. You have to really get down on your hands and knees to find the good ones. Start scratching around and eventually, the red clay will yield nicely formed quartz. Not just regular old rocks, mind you, but real crystals, caused by some distant volcanic activity, if memory serves me. The biggest ones are maybe the size of a multivitamin. To me, it’s as big as the world. “Adam Wong, get over here!” Mr. Green screams. I stuff my loot into my pockets and head back towards the road. I am in trouble.

Mr. Green, Director of Spartanburg Science Center, will retire after 38 years.

Later that week, we are back in the air-conditioned Arts Center. Today, we are studying astronomy. Today, we are using the “StarLab.” This, by the way, is the grand finale of science camp. What’s the StarLab? It’s an igloo of heavy black fabric, maybe 15 feet wide, inflated by an industrial fan, and you and the kids crawl through one end, and there’s a projector in the middle, and once your eyes adjust to the darkness, you start to see the stars projected onto the inside of the StarLab. Most of these kids live in the city, and they’ve never seen the stars for real, because of all the city lights. Even where I lived in Gramling, there’s enough artificial light from the interstate to keep your eyes from adjusting. But it’s pitch black in the StarLab. Each tiny star stands out against the black canvas. Plus, just swap out this slide and now you in the southern hemisphere, looking at the universe from a totally new perspective. These are stars we’ve never seen before, never would have imagined were there. I am, of course, not paying attention because I am 8 years old. With a click, Mr. Green’s thin scowl appears hovering in the dark. And he looks pretty mad too. I am in trouble. Again.

Crystals gathered by Adam Wong from the crystals fields on the westside of Spartanburg.

But now the news comes to me by email that Mr. Green is retiring. I’m not surprised, but I am very, very sad. The Science Center is Mr. Green, and Mr. Green is the Science Center. Every kid in Spartanburg County knows that. Who will run the summer science camp? Who will travel to after-school programs to give his famous science lectures? Who will feed the menagerie of snakes, fish, tarantulas and other assorted creepy-crawlies? And what about the late, great, mascot of the Science Center, Chief—who else would volunteer to care for a 50-pound snapping turtle, even when duty called for prying tiny errant fingers from out of his (actually her) jaws? And who could replicate John Green’s singular snark, the attitude of Grouch Marx encrusting Carl Sagan’s sense of awe? He’s a homespun modern Galileo, a Renaissance Man, Man of Science, a stalwart conservationist, and a most entertaining conversationalist, an idealist who wasn’t above threatening an unruly child with the static shock from a Van Der Graaff generator. Who could possibly replace John Green?

Awfully big shoes to fill, I think. And that was, and is, Mr. Green—filling small places with big ideas. To break this complex world down into bits and pieces even a child can understand. Taking the light of the whole universe, bending it through a piece of glass and showing it to a bunch of kids. That’s science and wonder, to me. Whatever you call it, Mr. Green was really good at it.

Thanks for science and the wonder, Mr. Green.

#

Adam Wong, son of Steve Wong and Kathy Woodham, grew up in Spartanburg but now he lives in Portland, Oregon, working as a computer programmer for a start-up enterprise. Sometimes, when no one is looking, he still digs around in the dirt looking for crystals.